Chapter Three
“Life is a swift tumble through the clouds, too fast to spend time searching for regrets or chasing wrongs.”
~Lucian Patras
“Sorry about that,” Isadora apologized, stepping further into the room.
Sawyer’s focus shifted, a troubled look flashing in his eyes. His jacket now draped over the chair he’d occupied earlier, but he looked as if he were thinking of putting it back on. Maybe he was mentally collecting his belongings before he made another excuse to leave. She didn’t want him to go—mostly because she didn’t want to be alone.
“Toni’s in bed,” she informed, not sure why that information concerned him.
“Did they have a nice time?”
“Yes. Jamie’s wonderful with her. He took her to Patras.”
He nodded, but made no further comment.
Unsure what to make of the shift in energy, she collected her glass from the bar to buy time, but something was definitely different, and she didn’t understand why.
“Is something wrong, Sawyer?”
His gaze followed her as she came to sit on the empty side of the settee. “When did you stop calling me Mr. Bishop?”
The soft, cajoling rumble of his voice was more soothing than probing. Voices like that could make audio instructions sound like Shakespeare.
Thinking over his question, her brow tightened. “I’m not sure. I suppose I was a teenager when you invited me to call you by your first name. Should I go back to calling you Mr. Bishop?” she teased. It seemed silly to think of him as anything other than Sawyer.
Turning his wrist, the ice in his glass shifted. “The boys … they’ve been friends for a long time.”
“And hopefully they will be forever.”
“And I’ve been your father’s friend for as long as I can recall. He gave me a job when I was fresh out of college.”
“And now you run one of his companies. What is it you’re trying to say, Sawyer?”
“You’re very young, Isadora. Too young to have a boy in college and a ten-year-old in your care, but you do it with the maturity of an experienced woman.”
“Thank you, but Lucian’s my brother, not my son. And Toni… I may act like her mother, but I’m not. I take no joy in erasing our mother’s memory.”
He glanced at his empty glass, the filtered moonlight reflecting in the crystal as he placed it on the table. “I should go.”
Tipping her glass over his, she filled it with a finger of scotch. “Not before you finish your drink.”
Peering through thick, black lashes, he gave her a questioning look that made her feel immediately foolish. Why had she done that?
He twisted to face her. “What are you doing, Isadora?”
“I don’t know. I’ve had a lot to drink.” Her voice dropped to a rasp as her gaze latched onto his, holding so tight she could hardly spare a blink.
“Is that it then?”
Her lashes fluttered, breaking the spell, and she laughed nervously. Those eyes were hypnotic, especially when he looked directly into hers. She shook her head, shaking off the affect. “Is that what?”
Lifting his glass, he finished her offering in one swallow, placed the tumbler on the table, and stood. She rose as well, the camaraderie they’d shared earlier rapidly evaporating. Perhaps thirty-seven wasn’t such a good year.
Tension closed in on her, its impending heaviness puncturing the inebriated haze cocooning her mind. The unfamiliar imbalance was more than the effect of alcohol. Maybe she was coming down with something.
She didn’t want him to go and his proximity to the door filled her with panic and heat. Stay , she wanted to say, but something kept her quiet. She wanted him to make the decision without her prompting his response.
It became a game of guessing what he might do or say next and she liked the uncertainty, found it unsteadily thrilling. Her heart beat too fast as she tried to identify a time she’d ever felt so nervous in such a fulfilling way. She didn’t typically favor anxiety, yet she coveted the feeling now, a dark anticipation for every motion, every word. So much to lose in such a simple decision, yet she hadn’t a clue what she’d gain if he chose to stay.
“I apologize for intruding on your evening,” he said, stepping around the table.
Her heart jerked. Her disappointment was a physical jolt that convinced her something else was happening here—something she shouldn’t feel.
She stepped around the other side of the coffee table and met him on the carpet, frantic to keep him there a while longer. She didn’t want to be alone, but maybe he was feeling this strange energy too and figured it best to leave.
“Sawyer, what changed?”
“The fact that you don’t know is a testament to your young age.”
Affronted, she drew back. Perhaps she was a bad drunk, because his words hurt more than they probably should.
She wasn’t an idiot and though she didn’t have much experience with men like Sawyer—or any men for that matter—she wasn’t a prude. Something changed between them tonight. A sort of chemistry had evolved.
She never felt this kind of attraction around him before and maybe he felt it too and that was why he was trying to escape. But she was drunk, so perhaps her perception was off.
Rather than further embarrass herself, she stepped aside. “I’m sorry if I did something to offend you.”
Gah! She always said the worst things. What was she trying to get, a sympathy stay? That was not what she was after.
“You did nothing offensive. It’s just … not appropriate for me to be here—alone with you. It’s late.”
Embarrassed that her eagerness reeked of inexperience, she looked away. She shouldn’t let him see her like this. She’d have to see him again and it was utterly humiliating to think he might assume she was some sad, desperate woman trying to seduce her father’s colleague when she just wanted a little company. Oh, God, she was desperate.
Her gaze dropped to the carpet as a dark sense of inadequacy swallowed her. “I understand. I didn’t mean to…” … whatever I’ve done.
“Goodnight, Isadora.”
She didn’t look up to see if he was staring at her. She didn’t need to. She could feel his stare measuring her. He hesitated as he approached the door.
“You’ll call if you need anything?” he asked softly.
Never . “Of course.”
With nothing more to say, he left, his leather-soled footfalls drifting almost silently as he made his way to the foyer.
Humiliated, she turned to the bar and lifted the expensive bottle. No matter how much her life resembled that of an adult, she never stopped feeling apart from the actual authority figures. A little girl with a license to leave the kiddie table for one meal before an early bedtime.
Rethinking the last couple hours and degrading herself for every unflattering impression she might have left, she wished desperately to erase the entire evening. She was not on his level and he saw her as his colleague’s pathetic kid who was astoundingly short on friends.
Collecting the glasses filled with watered down ice, she decided not to return to her father’s study anymore. Every time she left this room she felt like half a person—tonight more so than usual.
She dumped the ice in the sink at the wet bar and sat the glasses on the counter. “What a waste.”
The door to the office creaked and she pivoted, gasping as she found him still there and staring at her from the threshold.
“My…” He shook his head, brow tense with lines of tension. “I forgot my jacket.”
Her chest tightened as she blinked at him in question. His jacket was behind her, yet she lacked the will to move.
Was he really back for his jacket? Had he left it there on purpose? He watched her, keeping his distance, like she was some sort of black widow. She mentally laughed. She was about as threatening as a baby bunny.
Putting her back to the bar, she gave him room to get his belongings and go. Reaching past her, he slid the jacket off the back of the chair and stilled, close enough for her to see the contrast of silver threaded in the dark hair at his temples.
Her skin tingled as breath locked in her lungs, his scent crawling into her. A million moments she should have had collided in her mind, borrowed memories from novels and cinematic romances and what she knew most girls experienced years before approaching her actual age.
His arm brushed the front of her blouse and his eyes shut on a whispered curse. Every breath she took tightened her clothing. She was winded, yet standing perfectly still.
“Tell me to go. Tell me to forget the jacket,” he whispered, voice low as it scratched along her every tender nerve.
She said nothing and he let the jacket slide down the chair and onto the floor. She couldn’t blink and she began to tremble subtly as he turned to fully face her, staring into her eyes.
Each inhalation lifted her breasts higher. Her lips parted, the scent of expensive scotch, rich cologne, and sin clouding her mind. She wasn’t a small woman. Thin, yes, but too tall. Yet, looking up at him now, she found her height perfect, and his stature arrestingly right. Strong.
“Tell me to go, Isadora,” he repeated, voice rasping in a way that prickled the back of her neck, seeming to lift the fine hairs along her collar.
There was something more than drunken secrets here. She edged closer, never one to act audaciously, but maybe this was the self-indulgent moment she’d been waiting for. Brazen seemed right.
Drawing in a shaky breath, she softly whispered, “I didn’t want you to leave in the first place.”
Uttering another curse, he reached for her so fast she took a startled step back, only to be blocked by the bar. His hand swept into her hair, fingers terrorizing her sensible bun, as he jerked her body to his on a gasp. His aggression was as unexpected as his intensity. The shocking press of his lips was a welcome delight. Warm. Unquestioning. Experienced.
His other hand surged low on her back, pulling her body flush to his as their heads tilted and his mouth opened against hers. Heat swirled low in her belly as her hands sought a place to rest.
A fever took hold, burning hot, as her knuckles flexed and her fingers dug into his broad shoulders. The distant thud of the bottle hitting the carpet only vaguely registered, as he spun her and backed her toward the desk.
His mouth opened wider, his tongue spearing between her lips, greedily taking as he dipped her over the surface, arching her backwards and exposing her neck. The five o’clock shadow covering his jaw scraped over her delicate skin, making her toes curl.
He lifted her and objects moved along the desk, the lamp light jostling in the shadows. Her knees drew up as a chair skidded out of the way. He towered over her, kissing, licking, biting . And her body was on fire.
Objects clattered to the ground as his touch dragged up her leg, hiking her simple pencil skirt higher. The bunched material gave way, sliding as high as her hips when he fit his legs between hers.
The weight of his arousal pressed against her core. She gasped and everything stilled.
His heavy breathing mingled with hers as his stormy eyes flashed in the light shining from the desk lamp. She’d never been in such a tangle. They were so close it was difficult to determine whose parts were whose.
“Shit.” He made to rise, but her grip on his shirt tightened. “Isadora,” he rasped, almost pleadingly.
Hating the regret she recognized in his gaze, she almost let him go. Almost.
She could do this— they could do this. Who would know? They were both adults.
Lifting her head, she gently brushed her lips against his. Shockingly, it seemed enough to hold him there. His mouth tilted over hers, pulling, slowly taunting, until everything inside of her seemed to stretch like warm taffy and melt her body into his. The tension left his shoulders as his weight sank into her.
His hand followed the curve of her hip, tracing the nip of her waist and un-tucking her blouse one ripple of fabric at a time. His warm fingertips scorched the hidden skin of her belly, skimming over her ribs with practiced ease. Her body arched as the swell of her breast filled his palm and her lips parted on a sigh.
“We shouldn’t do this,” he whispered, his thumb tracing delicate swirls over the hardening tip of her nipple.
There was no way she was letting him leave now. The press of his arousal was leaving her panties slick and his hand was working some sort of magic under her blouse.
“Yell at me, Isadora. Tell me to stop, to take my hands off you.”
“Stop fighting it, Sawyer.” She loosened the top button of her blouse. And another. And then another.
He eased back as the silk parted. He looked at her as no man ever had. “Jesus. You’re beautiful.”
Blinking, he stood and gently pulled her with him. Leaving her shirt open she quickly straightened her skirt.
His attention drifted around the room and he grimaced. “Your bed—”
“Is upstairs. Too close to my sister’s room. Here’s fine.”
His mouth pursed. He didn’t seem pleased with the options.
Releasing her hand, he shut the door tightly and turned the antique key sitting in the lock. Shoving the coffee table out of the way, he came back to her and glanced at the floor.
She didn’t care where they were, so long as he kissed her some more. Nodding, she stepped closer to his front, eager to pick up where they’d left off.
With trembling fingers, she loosened the buttons of his vest. Though she struggled, he patiently allowed her the time she needed. Once she had the garment off his shoulders, she laughed. Another line of buttons awaited under his tie.
She’d never been so close to a man. Her breasts were throbbing, the heat coming from the strong wall of his chest the greatest sensation ever to touch her skin. Her fingers fumbled with the knot of his tie.
“Let me…”
But rather than open his shirt, he tucked her hands at her side and brushed a strand of hair from her cheek, removing the clip from her bun. His fingers sifted through the weight of her loose hair, spreading the long locks over her shoulders as he studied her face.
“You’re so pretty, Isadora.”
His words were disarming and strangely uncomfortable to hear. “I’m not—”
His sharp gaze silenced her. “Yes.” Deft fingers slid her blouse off her shoulders, letting it fall to the floor. “You are.”
She followed his gaze to the clasp at the front of her lace bra, her heart trembling behind her ribs. He was still dressed and her breasts wore only a light layer of fabric.
“May I?”
Unsteady on her legs and throat too dry to talk, she nodded.
The lace tightened, plumping her breasts, then gave way. The garment slid down her arms, joining her shirt on the floor. Cool air closed around her, puckering her skin as he stepped back.
Shadows swallowed the stormy pupils of his irises as he stared at her—truly stared—like no man ever had. Something dark was born in that moment and she accepted that nothing, not jewels, not exotic furs nor luxurious gowns, nothing had ever felt as good as his stare on her skin.
With nimble dexterity, he removed his tie and unbuttoned his shirt, never taking his gaze off of her. Despite being a man in his early forties, his body was unquestionably appealing.
She drew in a shaky breath as the first patch of tanned flesh revealed a light dusting of dark hair over chiseled masculinity. The focus of his attention caused a tremble inside of her that rattled from her limbs all the way to her lips.
Swallowing hard, she took a step forward, her palm hovering just over his heart and slowly touching down. Heat. Virility. So much power rested inside of him.
His heart beat beneath her palm and she glanced up at his face. She couldn’t recall ever touching another person so intimately. “I can feel your heart racing.”
He tipped her chin, brushing a gentle kiss over her lips and pulling her closer. The warmth of his hand closed over her breast, cupping, pulling, fingers gently pinching as her knees softened and she moaned against his lips.
“Your mouth is pure temptation,” he whispered, the zipper at her hip loosening as her skirt slipped to the floor.
Kisses traveled to the corner of her lips, to her jaw, down the side of her throat as chills chased over every curve. Shivers skipped down her spine as he lifted her breasts, his lips closing over the tips and pulling tightly as she struggled to draw in enough air.
Her body came alive, thrumming with a desire for more. His arm banded around her, arching her backward as he lowered her to the carpet.
“Is this okay?”
The carpet was lush and cool against her back, but none of that mattered. As she looked up at him she realized how much trust lay between them. He wouldn’t hurt her. On some level he cared about her, always acting so gentle and considerate of her feelings.
“This is perfect,” she whispered.
It was like a dream, one she had no desire to wake from. Hair tousled, his head dipped to her throat, kissing and teasing, while his warm hands slowly caressed her curves. She had no idea how badly she needed this until it was actually happening, no idea how hungry her skin had been for any sort of affection.
A fire singed beneath her skin, sweeping through her with an intensity so strong she found herself clutching and pulling him closer. He subdued her excitement with gentle touches, tamed the burn into something slow and decadent.
The delicate silk at her hips pulled away as his fingers stroked between her thighs. Soft, wet heat waited within her folds. The first caress of his fingers over her sex had her gasping, nervous and excited for what might come.
“So soft…” He parted her tender folds and gently probed her slick flesh. Deeper and deeper he pressed until she wasn’t sure if she should cry in pleasure or beg for more.
His mouth left her breasts and traveled lower. He slowly kissed down her belly. Her hands fumbled over their discarded clothing until her fingers sifted through his silken hair. She arched sharply as his tongue licked a straight line to the sensitive peak of her sex.
“ Ah …” The pleasure was so acute she feared she might break from the inside out.
Her hands tightened, as did his lips. Fingers probing deeply, he licked and kissed as her body throbbed with awareness.
Her blood pumped, thick and hot through her veins, as if traveling toward something magnificent. Tighter, sharper, the pleasure built until control slipped away and she cried out in a rush of frenzied ecstasy.
Her body quaked under a cool dew of perspiration and desire. The whisper of his clothing hardly registered as her thoughts floated outside themselves, drifting softly back into her bones like a feather falling to a pond, sending slight ripples of sensation to all her edges in a gentle tickle.
Strong hands adjusted her limbs as Sawyer rose above her. The press of coarse hair along her thighs caused her eyes to open.
“You’re ready, bella,” he whispered, tenderness banked in his stark blue eyes.
Drawing in a steadying breath, she nodded, her body opening to him. His shoulders lifted as his strong arms supported his weight. In a moment of panic, her mind seized, her sex tightening before he could enter.
“What is it? Do you want to stop?”
Her heart raced. “No.” She shook her head. “I’m just … nervous.”
“We can stop—”
“No, I want this.” This was her moment, her opportunity to do something indulgent for herself and she couldn’t imagine sharing it with anyone other than him. “I want this with you.”
“Okay, bella.” He leaned down, his lips chasing up her neck, his fingers softly combing through her hair. “Relax a little.”
Her body calmed, her palms resting on his broad shoulders, and her knees opening to make room for his hips. Gradually entering her with slow advances, her spine stretched to accommodate his girth.
He peppered her throat with kisses as his breathing quickened. “That’s it, bella.”
She blinked up at him, assured by his steady gaze borne of tenderness. Those eyes were the most adoring pair to ever set on her. They promised secrets would be kept and—perhaps only in her fanciful heart—that she might never be alone again.
He thrust deep and pulled her body against his, his mouth finding hers as he held her with loving hands. The initial sharpness of pain was curbed by the tender way he took her mouth. Perfect. And seconds later she was lost in a whirlwind of pleasure.
“You feel incredible, bella.”
She loved that he already had a special name for her, one only she would know. “So do you.”
It was the most intimate moment of her life. He was claiming parts of her—personal, secret parts—and nothing had ever felt as good as his possession.
His rhythm built, but he paced himself. Steady, deep motions rocked her. Their bodies clung to each other, flesh slick, her pulse fluttering until there came another moment of rapture. Her muscles tightened around him and he groaned, pressing his chest to hers, losing himself right in her arms.
She’d never seen a man so unveiled or imagined anything remotely close. Such fleeting vulnerability mixed with a flash of innocence as he finished, some unnamable glimpse of fragility that matched her own. Elusive, but there, letting her know he needed this as much as she did.
Panting, he lowered his head to her shoulder. Her hand ghosted over the back of his silky hair, cradling him.
“I’ve got you,” she whispered, unsure where the words came from, but feeling like his equal, now more than ever.
He shivered and pressed a kiss to her neck, as he lingered inside of her. “My God, Isadora. It should be illegal for anything to feel so good.”
She laughed, glad to know she’d done okay for her first time.
Slowly, he eased off of her. Her body protested his withdrawal as an unfamiliar soreness awakened inside of her.
Sawyer stilled and silently cursed. “It seems I need to take my own advice. Please tell me you’re on birth control.”
Of course she wasn’t. She’d lectured Lucian plenty of times about being responsible, which made it all the more mortifying that she’d been so careless. Not wanting to lie, she simply said, “Don’t worry.”
He sighed with notable relief then looked around the room. Rising, he walked— stark naked— to the bar and poured water over a linen napkin. The moment he turned and caught her staring, her blush spread across her entire body.
Grinning with male arrogance, he shamelessly sauntered back to her, completely undaunted by his nudity or hers. She frowned as he nudged her knees apart.
“Let me,” he said softly, pressing the cloth between her thighs. His brow pinched. “There’s a little—” His frown deepened and she pressed her thighs together, but he held her knee still. His expression blanked as he met her gaze. “Jesus. Was this your first time?”
Her cheeks burned. Enough. Brushing his hand away, she closed her legs, but held his stare, unsure if he was more shocked by her age or her virtue. Either way she refused to justify something as silly as virginity. It was what it was.
“Does that bother you?”
He looked away, brow still tight. “Why didn’t you say something?”
She laughed. “What would I have said?”
“That you were a virgin .”
There was no censure in his tone, but she sensed his immediate regret. No way would she let him take something so lovely and paint it in some shameful light.
“And then what, Sawyer? Would you have taken the authoritative position and decided for me? It makes no difference.”
“It makes a big difference, Isadora.”
“Why?” She was an adult for God’s sake. At this point, her virginity was more of an embarrassment than anything else. She was glad to have it gone.
“Your first time should be special.” He appeared frustrated, but his voice remained low, his tone not exactly gentle.
She sat up, refusing to let him ruin this for her. “It was special.” Pulling her shirt to her chest, she confessed the truth. “I have no regrets.”
He shook his head. “Would you tell me if you did?”
“Have I given you a reason to doubt my honesty?”
Lines of tension bracketed his mouth. “No.”
They awkwardly sat in the shadows as her body cooled and shivered. “What now?”
“You’re cold. Let’s get dressed then we’ll decide what happens next.”
Though he helped her up, his eyes remained cast toward the floor, somehow filling her with uncertainty and additional disdain for her sheltered life. No matter how much she didn’t want the loss of her virginity to ruin this moment, it seemed like it was going to anyway.